It isn’t a constant emotion. It can linger, but there’s no permanence in grief. It comes in with such force, you never see it coming, and then it leaves when its ready. The amount of time that transpires between coming and leaving varies. For me, it feels like I’m being completely taken over from the inside out. The pain has truly created a wound, I hurt from inside right in the middle, clear on out. It’s like a huge wave hits me, and I lose. I’m on the ground, done. I don’t fight it, I let it go. I might get angry, yell, kick my feet, scream, I took a bat to an old end table a few months ago, but I let it do its thing to me. When I don’t fight it, I reserve energy. Grief is exhaustive. I try to avoid it, pretending the stupid shit that brought it on, didn’t just happen, but I knew it did. I was fighting it then. It made me so tired. I couldn’t get out of bed to even make cereal for Jason. I knew then I would never be the same.

Now, if I have to cry, I just walk away, alone, and go do that. I try to avoid people because they all want to comfort me, but they don’t understand how that very act makes me cry harder. I know they’re being the good people they are and I’m grateful, but I cannot describe it except to say I have no control over my emotions right now. The actual type of crying I do now is different. I heard there are different types of cries, but I never experienced this until now. It’s a wave of hurt, and it attacks from inside, a place you can’t mend. My face has never felt uglier. I’ve been swollen, dehydrated, created tissue stucco on my cheeks, snotted up, and utterly tearless altogether. Sometimes it feels like my eyes are going to dry right out of my head from all the salt comes out of them. Sometimes my body cries, I don’t tear up or anything but I just lay in my bed and kind of wince and twitch. I mean I’m not doing it, my body is and I just lay there waiting for it to stop.

I close my eyes and picture his face. I can see those massive green eyes staring straight back at me. I loved how his face lit up when my eyes met his, or maybe it was my face lighting up and he just responded. I’d hear him say, “there’s mama” and I remember how much it aggravated me, but for the life of me I can’t even remember why now. I know what he meant by “mama” but my sad little ego was bruising as though it was a cheap shot, when in fact it was a compliment. I was such a fool! I wish I could hear that now “here’s mama” I wish he’d still come lay down next to me on the sofa, lay his head in my lap, grab my hands, and put them over his face like he did so many times in my life, and ask “touch me babe. Rub my head, please” The thought, or knowing that I’ll never do that again as long as I live destroys me inside, subtly, methodically, just enough everyday.